And everyhing changed
by UnofficialLurker
Summary: Small changes, causing larger ones. Some oneshots, not connected
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Tomorrow the battle would take place, no doubt about it. And all would be over, one way or the other. There would be widows, orphans, and executions. No matter who won, the losing side would be condemned, as traitors, or as shreds of the failed dynasty.

He wondered if he should have cared more. Either way, it was because of him; his obsession, his haste, his bloody carelessness in not making sure the Seven-damned letter reached its' intended in time. But his mind and heart was full of worry for those closer to it. His wife, his daughter, his son. His second wife (and may he be forgiven that),the child yet unborn. How angry she'd been when he refused to bring her with him! But an army on the march was no place for a woman carrying. Even more so for this woman. He could not stand the thought of losing her.

His friend and protector came in. He'd tried to leave the knight behind, tried to command him to stay, to guard the woman and the child, but his little wife had taken the knight's side and refused to let him leave without either the knight or her. So he took the knight, and cursed her for it, for valuing his life over her own.

"I'll wear your armour tomorrow", the knight said." You must go to the Red Keep. There has been a message from the Spider that the pyromancers are hiding wildfire under the city, and the King knows."

 _And everything changed._

The prince rode off to protect the wife he did not love, his children whom he did, and the city they lived in. And the Sword of the Morning donned his prince's armour, and died in the waters of the Trident.

The second wife bore her child, and lived though she never conceived again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Being blind made him see things more clearly, and when that new recruit spoke, he heard ghosts of loved ones long dead. Dead in the flames of obsessions. The Gods flipping coins, indeed. The part forgotten was that no matter if it landed on mad or great, there was always a strand of the other in there as well.

But this boy, who spoke with the accent of the North somehow sounded like a boy who'd run away to go to a tournament so many long years ago. Somehow the boy made the old maester thing of another boy, not that long dead who had chased light in shadows, searching endlessly for old prophesies, to escape a father's madness and a mother's fear until he was old enough to protect himself. And by then, the prophesies had become habit to deeply ingrained to break.

But sure, he was not. He couldn't see, after all, but he knew he'd have been told if the boy had had the eyes or the hair. And would Eddard Stark have raised the child of an enemy? No, the old maester decided. This was his own longing to not be the last dragon in Westeros, and baby Aegon was dead. But he did wonder, just enough to give more advice and lessons than he usually did.

Then a letter came, from a man in the King's dungeon, smuggled out by he never learned who.

 _And everything changed._

Sam read it to him, stuttering with shock at the tale of a girl in a bed of blood, a promise to her, and a promise to a nephew raised as a son to tell him about his mother. The oath was sworn, but the old maester now knew to tell his great-nephew of his father, and of the prophesy. And dragons do better when not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Men who drink, talk. She didn't remember when Petyr had told her that, but she was desperate enough to try anything. And her husband was torn up enough by the Greyjoy Rebellion to drink and drink and drink when she poured for him in the privacy of her bedchamber.

She knew she shouldn't. She should just let it go, swallow the shame and humiliation as she had done so far. But the rumours were going around again, and the last letter from her sister had included a small barbed comment about putting up with bastards. So in her anger, humiliation and hurt – so much hurt; how could he have done this to her, even though they hadn't known or loved each other yet? - she kept pouring the strong drink. Then she started asking. Discreet, leading questions, beginning with Harrenhal, moving on to Brandon, to the rushed wedding, to the battles he had fought.

At first he clammed up. Then he started to apologise. Then he got angry, and walked away, snapping at her she had no business asking about this. What was done was done, and the gods forgive him. So she got angrier as well, and shouted at him about if his sister had only not let herself be stolen, there wouldn't have been a war!

"The prince didn't steal her! She ran away!" he whispered then, and more fell than sat back down. Face in his hands. "She ran away."

The next morning, she confronted her husband about what she had needled out of him. And learned that the bastard she so hated was perhaps not a stain on her husbands honour, but a risk to all their lives. In Winterfell, they were raising Dragonspawn, a trueborn Targaryen prince, not a bastard at all.

 _And everything changed._

She didn't change how she acted against the boy, hating him still. Now for the risk he brought to her own children. But she refused to let him go to the Wall. And when her husband lost his head outside the Sept of Baelor, she told her son and the boy the truth and the banners of the North rose for a Targaryen king, not a King in the North.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He was furious, felt so helpless. He had come here to learn, to help, to do something, Because when the world was falling to pieces, even a coward must be able to do something other than running away from the fights. And he was good at figurings things out but they wouldn't let him! So he ranted, and Gilly listened, unexpected blessing that she was.

Somewhere in the middle of his furious outpouring of words about maesters and their obsession with windows and steps and bowels, his brain caught up with him, knocking him over the head with what Gilly had just told him. A Rhaegar Targaryen… an annulment…

 _And everything changed._

He ripped the book out of Gilly's hands, ignoring her offended sound, and read. Rhaegar Targaryen, yes. An annulment, yes. A second marriage in Dorne, yes. In 282. He knew the history of Roberts Rebellion well enough; his father had fought in it. And in 282, Lyanna Stark had disappeared, and not been found until after the war. In Dorne, dead.

He was now desperately searching the notes for a name, any name of the bride. And then, there it was. Lyanna. The confirmation made him sick to his stomach, especially since the detail – obsessed maester had added that the couple seemed devoted.

This, Jon had to know. As well as Queen Daenerys. Because if what Maester Aemon had once said was true, Targaryens didn't fare well alone. And Sam knew Ned Stark, who had been known for his honour, had been the one to find his sister. And Jon's eyes was purple in a certain light.

So when Sam and Gilly left Oldtown, they stole that book, as well as all those about the Long Night he could find, and set out for Winterfell.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I can do no more. Burn the body", the Red Woman said, finally.

The Onion Knight wished he wasn't relieved by that, but they had spent so long trying to do something so against nature, anything that would just end it, finally, was good with him. Though he'd miss the lad. And he still feared the Red Woman's pyres.

The men of the Watch agreed, reluctantly. The stand-off with the new Lord Commander would be over, and they would live. And if there was no hope for the former commander, they needed to be, if not on the good side of the new one, so at least not enemies of him.

The body was washed, again. Prepared for burning. The wolf didn't object. The body was carried out, and laid on the pyre. The Onion Knight and the men of the Watch managed to prevent the Red Woman from speaking. This was not her rite, but theirs.

The body burned fast, faster than expected. And when it died, there was more left than expected. And the silent wolf howled.

 _And everything changed._

Dolorous Edd hurried forward, only to come to a stop so abrupt he fell down. The body was still there. And Lord Commander Jon Snow rose, naked as a babe, his hair and beard burnt off. And his eyes were purple, not grey when he looked at them men surrounding him.

His hair grew out white as snow. And when the Dragon Queen came, her nephew knew.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

"Don't you dare leave me. Leave us." That was the only thing she could say, and she said it while resting one hand on the hilt of the dagger she insisted on carrying. The other hand was fisted at her side, to stop it from travelling to her belly. She knew that would make him unreasonable. She wished she didn't both understand and love his protectiveness, but how could she not? She was the same.

"You promised me," she added, and saw him waver. And then go firm again.

"Not this," he refused, turning away. "I can't, won't, risk you. Either of you."

She wanted to storm and rage at him, then. She wasn't soft, wasn't weak. Didn't need him to keep her safe, locked away. Not now, not ever. But raging at him never did any good.

"I fell in love you, went with you, left everything for you," she whispered instead.

And saw him flinch. Turn.

"And I couldn't bear it if you left us behind," she kept pressing. "If you went and fought against my family, and I just had to sit here, like a maid in some story."

"And I couldn't fight the way I might have to, if I must also worry about keeping you safe, about you not giving birth in some tent in a soldiers' camp!" he snapped.

She grabbed him, pulled him to bench and perched on his lap. Kissed him, gently at first, then firmer.

"Also, I want to stare into Robert Baratheon's arrogant face, and tell him I would rather have been your whore than his wife. That I never loved him or even liked him, and that he should be ashamed to have been spreading false talk of me allowing myself to be stolen without fighting back."

He laughed, then, her Dragon Prince, who knew her fire was a match for his. But he would not change his mind, she saw.

His hand came up to press against her belly. The other sliding around the back of her head, gathering her, them, against him. His hand rubbed her belly gently. And she understood, suddenly, that maybe it wasn't about him not trusting her strength and resilience. About him being like Robert, thinking her weak for being a woman.

"I'm not Elia," Lyanna Stark Targaryen said, lips a breath from her husband's skin. "And this babe of ours is as strong and healthy as both of us. It won't suffer for me going with you."

He stiffened against her, let her go. And she knew she'd been right.

"If this child is the child of your prophecy, that won't happen. And even if it is not, it is a child of the North. And we are hardy stock."

He closed his eyes. And his body relaxed against her, allowed her to gather him against her, rest her cheek against him.

"Take us with you," she murmured again. "Take us, and the Knights. That way, we all will be safer. Me, you, and our babe."

"Why did I ever think that taking up with a stubborn little wolf was a good idea?" he replied, amusement and exhaustion in his voice. "Fine, wife, you can come. But only if you don't argue when I try to keep you as safe as I can."

He held her off when she tried to kiss him, hug him. "And only if I can be there when you use that tongue of yours to flay my Baratheon cousin."

 _And everything changed._

For Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, and Robert Baratheon, finding out that the Prince had brought Lyanna with him when he joined his father's army, was what made them agree to sit down. To talk. Because the letter requesting the meeting, was written in Lyanna's hand, and signed Lyanna Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

She was visibly pregnant when they met, and visibly proud as well. And for a long time after that meeting, people who had been near, would talk of how the future Queen had yelled at her brother and former betrothed for considering her a spineless little girl, who had allowed herself to be stolen like a sheep.


	7. Chapter 7

He was talking fast, fast, fast. Figuring out what he wanted to say as he went along. Talking was, had always been, his gift, and now he talked to save his neck, his home, some shattered remains of hope. Regret made it hard to speak, regret for his brother, and for his friend. Who had been right. Who had both been brave enough to see and act, when he had closed his eyes. No so clever, after all.

Somehow, he found, he was electing a king. And he didn't quite know how he'd gotten there, or why. But there he was, and those around him were starting to nod in agreement. And perhaps, perhaps, is tongue was still clever, and he was sweeping up some of the ashes. The bells still tolled in his mind.

Finally, he stopped talking. Breathed a sigh of relief, and resignation. Now, fate would do what it would. Those around him were voicing their agreement. Except one. Lord Howland Reed was silent. And then he wasn't.

 _And everything changed._

"I have a letter", the lord said. "From a long time ago. And another I recently received. And I believe the latter went to most of you as well. Why are we talking about electing a new king? We have one."

And he told of Lyanna. Of Rhaegar. Of Ned Stark and the Tower of Joy. And of a secret kept and revealed. Of a prince raised a bastard. And Samwell Tarly found his tongue again, and confirmed what he had read in the Citadel. He did have the book, somewhere and promised to look.

To kill a ruler and then replace them, especially if there was a blood claim, was nothing new. Robert had done it, after all.

Tyrion cleared his head with a quick shake, wondering why he hadn't thought of that. Why none of them had. They had all gotten ravens from Varys, declaring Jon Snow a trueborn Targaryen, and they had all... forgot.

As he turned to look to the new king being led out, chains just unlocked, he saw, from the corner of his eye, a cold blue pass over brown in Brandon Starks eyes.


End file.
